


Anger Management

by strengefruit



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Bedtime Snuggle Buddies, Episode Related-ish, Episode: s03e09, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strengefruit/pseuds/strengefruit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Blinding hatred” is just another word for “sexual tension.”</p>
<p>Ressler and Tom have a bit of a quote-unquote run-in post “The Director: Part 1.” PWP ensues! With bonus ridiculously short and poorly-written fight scene!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anger Management

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @zoi_no_miko for beta and friendship!

Aram relieved him of his watch sometime after two in the morning. At that point, he was just standing there watching the soft rise and fall of Liz’s chest as she slept, her body forcing her to take a moment to recover from the events of the day. Ressler himself only allowed Aram to take his place knowing that he too needed to sleep or else he wouldn’t be much good to anybody in the battle ahead. He didn’t know how Aram was forgiven so quickly of pulling a gun on the Director, but then again, Aram had a way about him that made it hard to hold a grudge – or consider him a threat, even if that was a mistake.

An agent drove Ressler back to his apartment, and they passed through the streets in silence, the low hum of the car engine the only sound in the early morning hours. The drive itself passed in a blur, and in no time at all the car pulled to a stop in front of his building.

Ressler was angry. But then again, he always was. For years he was angry at Reddington, and while Audrey’s death had put that on the backburner for a while because the rage he felt for Tanida was all-consuming, it never really went away. Then he was angry at Liz, one of the few people he trusted, for breaking that trust and for going against everything he thought they both stood for. And of course, he was angry at the Director, for standing there so smugly in plain sight, a constant reminder of how everything he believed in might very well be a lie.

But right now he was just angry with himself.

He walked up the steps to the entrance, muscle memory taking over as he allowed himself to be fully enveloped in his rage. He trusted Hitchin with the information about Karakurt, and because of that everything had nearly blown up in his face, and Liz…

Liz was alive. Ressler had to keep telling himself that. She hadn’t died in that box, she hadn’t disappeared into the night under the “care” of the Director. She was safe with the DOJ.

He knew he needed to sleep, but his anger was crackling off his skin like electricity. There might be some whiskey left, he thought as he turned the key in the lock; pills were out of the question but alcoholism was still on the table.

All plans were thrown out the window, however, when he was greeted by the very distinct sound of his shower running.

It took less than a second for him to pull his gun from his holster, anger taking the backseat to years of training and experience. Ressler cursed his own stupidity under his breath; how could he not think the Cabal wouldn’t come for him?

The living room was empty as he slipped through the darkness. A trap, then. An invitation.

He edged towards the bathroom, gun at the ready, the light from beneath the closed door casting shadows across the hall. He could still hear the shower running, blocking out any sound from whoever was waiting. Slowly, he reached out with his left hand for the doorknob, the gun steady in his right.

Which is when he heard a click behind him of a safety being removed.

The voice was low but familiar. “Let’s stop right there.”

Ressler didn’t bother to raise his hands or even take his finger off the trigger as he turned around. “What the hell are you...” he started to say, and then stopped.

Standing there, one of Ressler’s towels wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his still damp hair was Tom Keen.

“So this is interesting.” Tom said, lowering his gun.

Any calm Ressler might have had was swallowed beneath the anger that now returned in full force. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled.

“I could say the same to you,” Tom spat back, “What happened to guarding Lizzie with your life!?”

“Do you think I would be here if _I didn’t know_ _she was safe_?” Ressler took a step forward, “And the question is still what the fuck you are doing in _my_ apartment _wearing my goddamn towel._ ”

Tom gave him a vicious smirk, “I needed a shower, and I assumed, _incorrectly_ , that you would be doing your job.”

Both of them seemed surprised when Ressler’s free hand connected squarely with Tom’s jaw.

Tom’s gun clattered to the floor but he recovered quickly, grabbing the hand Ressler still held his own gun in and slamming it against the wall, forcefully disarming him as well. Ressler grunted as pain shot up his arm, but when his eyes locked with Tom’s he was smiling.

“I’ve been looking for an excuse to hit you.”

This time when Ressler took a swing Tom was ready. He countered effortlessly and his knee came up, making contact with Ressler’s ribs but unfortunately loosening the towel. Ressler grabbed at it with both hands and yanked hard, knocking both him and Tom off balance. They toppled to the ground, with Tom having the good luck to be the one to break Ressler’s fall.

Using their new position to his advantage, Ressler held Tom down with his left arm readied his right for another blow, but the other man was too quick and with a swift motion he found himself suddenly on his back beneath a naked Tom Keen. This time it was Tom who smiled, which only angered Ressler even more, and growling, he shoved at Tom, causing the other man to hit the wall with a dull thud.

Both were quick to their feet, but Ressler kept his momentum and pinned Tom to the wall. They paused, drawing quick breaths from the exertion of the fight.

Ressler shifted his weight in anticipation of Tom attempting to break his hold, so when he instead reached up to forcefully pull Ressler’s face towards his own he wasn’t prepared and their mouths came together in a crash of lips and teeth.

For a second Ressler froze, but then he regained his composure and pulled himself away from Tom. “What the fuck, Keen?” he asked, stepping back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

There was a dangerous glint in Tom’s eyes. He stayed where he was, back against the wall, panting heavily. “You’re not going to quit on me now, are you _Donald_?”

The anger burst within him like a volcanic eruption, and without thinking Ressler closed the distance between them and this time it was _him_ kissing _Tom_. There was no romance in his movements, not even passion; it was just rage fuelling him as he grabbed Tom’s face and dove in. Tom’s hands came up and grabbed Ressler’s hair, pulling them closer together as he opened his mouth to let in Ressler’s tongue.

Instinctively, Ressler moved in closer so their hips were touching, their legs intertwined, and the two men started to grind against each other. A particularly sharp thrust slammed Tom against the wall, but his fingers twined in Ressler’s hair kept their mouths together, always together, always fighting against the need for oxygen.

Tom’s erection was very obvious what with the lack of clothes, which made Ressler become all too aware of his own. With one hand he somehow managed to undo his belt, and then started to fumble at his fly.

“Here, let me help you with that, _Don_ ,” Tom mumbled, his lips not breaking contact.

“Shut up,” Ressler growled back, but then gasped involuntarily when one of Tom’s hands found its way inside his waistband and around his cock. He moved his own free hand to take hold of Tom’s, and the two men’s thrusting became more frantic, their mouths still together but not kissing as much as breathing together in unison.

Ressler’s knees buckled when they came, and only by the grace of god did he manage to angle himself so he could slide down the wall to sit beside Tom, his arms draped over his knees, gasping for air.

A sudden laugh broke the silence, and Ressler looked up to see Tom leaning back against the wall, his forearm covering his eyes, shaking with laughter.

“What’s so damn funny?” he asked, never forgetting to be angry with the other man.

“You surprised me, Don.” Tom’s smirk was back. He hated that smirk. “Not a lot of people surprise me.”

Before Ressler could think of a reply, Tom pushed himself away from the wall and stepped over to pick up the discarded towel.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I think I need to borrow your shower again.”

With that, Tom slipped into the bathroom, the brief influx of light causing Ressler to flinch before he was left alone in the dark.

“Go right ahead,” he sighed irritably, then pushed himself up off the floor and went to see if there really was any of that whiskey left.


End file.
